


Hot Glue Guns and Roses

by minxiebutt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Attack on Fashionzine, Gen, Mentor Mike Zacharias, Professional Relationship, Smoking, fashion - Freeform, fashion designer nanaba, mike with glasses!, mikenana if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/minxiebutt
Summary: Late night talk between a mentor and his favourite designer right before a show.





	Hot Glue Guns and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> My piece from the Attack on Fashionzine 2018.

When their fabric genius calls him at almost midnight to let him know their order is available for pickup, Mike considers saving the trip until morning, but he goes out again to pick it up anyway. It will be easier to get five full bags of bolts through the train station and to the studio now than in the workday rush at seven. 

He gets to the studio, letting himself in with the key, expecting to drop off the fabric and leave, but there are lights on in the work room. It would make sense to see an employee here to finish their day’s tasks; it is too close to deadline now to push anything off for the next day. It's Wednesday night, technically Thursday already, and the show is Friday evening. 

It's not an employee he finds at the work table near the window, but the designer, his longtime protégé, Nanaba. She has got her last minute project on a mannequin, a hot glue gun in her right hand, dwindling cigarette in her left hand between her ring and little fingers. 

“That was for one of the interns,” Mike says in greeting. He dumps the bolts on a clean work table so that he can organise them. 

“They're useless,” Nanaba informs him with a smoky exhale.

Instead of answering, Mike focuses on sliding the new fabric in with the others on the storage shelves, and when he's done, he goes to inspect her work. She's long lost any nervousness at having him standing and watching silently; she continues gluing crystals to the leather bomber with capable and steady hands. It's imperative that none of the adhesive show through, and so far, her work is as clean as always, despite the late hour.

“The intern’s jacket is on my desk,” she says. “Honestly. Look at it. It's not good enough.”

Mike doesn't need to go look at it. No input from him will keep her from staying up all night to replicate the design. This is important to her. 

“I swear, can't even make one easy jacket,” she grumbles, putting the hot glue gun down so that she can drag her fingers through her cropped hair while she smokes in frustration. “The seams were all crooked and the snaps were uneven, then on top of that, the guy  _ assured _ me that he would redo it.”

“Did you give him the chance?”

“No,” Nanaba sighs. “It's just easier for me to construct a new one from scratch.”

“Should have let him,” Mike chastises. 

“No, I  _ should _ fire him.”

“That's not how it's done.” Mike moves to inspect the finished collection items. Nanaba’s decided theme walks the line between  _ sparkle _ and  _ punk _ , and she's counting on the cliché to gather attention. It's an interesting move for a first show, but it's something she had fun designing, and she's bringing a fresh take to an overdone theme. The bustier for the bomber jacket is clipped to a hanger on the rack, black lace with delicate boning and hand-embroidered skulls on the cups. He remembers the girl who was tasked with its creation spent two whole days in a trance. 

“Let him finish his contract. It'll look bad on us to let him go early.” Mike may be Nanaba’s right hand man these days, but that is only so he can shape her into a skilled professional. He'll always be her teacher. 

The rack is full of other pieces that require less space. There are delicate blouses, dresses, and some rompers, too. All the bulkier outerwear has a mannequin to rest on. For every outfit on a hanger, they've created a jacket or coat to match, but the entire collection is similar enough that swapping would not look out of place. Mike can see a little bit of his own military style in her designs, but she brings a softness to the otherwise precise patterns. 

Sliding from her perch, she groans and stretches her fingers out on wiggles. “Well, I’m done now. It was only an extra six hours.”

The whole studio smells like coffee and smoke, but if she's more pleased, then he won't belittle her small victory. Preparing for the upcoming show has been incredibly stressful, but this time Friday, no one will remember it, choosing instead to bask in the spotlight of success. 

“Go home,” he tells her. “Models come at eight. Shoot is at noon.”

“Models,” Nanaba swears. “I can take the submitted headshots and sort through them now, that's one less thing for the morning.”

Mike raises an eyebrow at looks at her over the rim of his spectacles. “Black looks good on everyone. You're overthinking.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “I hate dealing with models.”

“Let the interns. Just give your stamp of approval.” Mike picks up the glue gun, wraps up the cord, and goes to put it away. When he comes back, Nanaba has moved to final mannequin in line with the rest, and she stands there, judging the hard work of their studio. 

“It'll be a good show,” he tells her. “You've done well.”

“You're only saying that because you have to,” she replies with a smile. She grabs her makeshift ashtray and dumps it into a trash can on their way out of the studio. They part ways at the train, but not before she tells him, “Thanks for mentoring me for so long. I really appreciate it.”

Mike grasps her shoulder and squeezes. “No finer pupil than you.”

  
  



End file.
